Kathy Heideman Move With Love

Lodged between a heartbreak and a smoke break, Kathy Heideman’s Move With Love wandered off I-5 somewhere just south of Hungry Valley State Vehicular Recreation Area and broke down. At its dusty roadside, cheap truck-stop java flows over plaintive coffeehouse tunes concerning “Bob” and “Need.” Her session hand’s lanky, echo-laden guitar might’ve twanged a bit strong for the typical sandal-shoed hitchhiker, who’d have fell harder for Dylanesque grandeur on “The Earth Won’t Hold Me.” More Bakersfield than Laurel Canyon, and set to walking in 1976 by the one-off Dia imprint in a plain-Jane, black-on-white sleeve, Heideman’s lone LP suffered the geographical misfortune of having ripened in the presilicon orchards of San Jose, California, far from more marketable realms—Emmylou’s backyard, say, or Joni Mitchell’s summery lawn. Heideman herself faded out thereafter, packing her shaken, singular voice into a rustic suitcase, moseying on, and leaping into the moving sun.